Allegiance
by Paperdoll
Summary: Set in the Wish-verse. Oz doesn't manage ot stake Vamp-Willow, then Spike turns up and the fun begins. Gratuitous torture and killing abounds.


Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the master of the Buffyverse, Joss Whedon, apart from the storyline, which I'm sure he wouldn't want if I offered it to him. _"A vague disclaimer is nobody's friend." – Willow_

The lyrics to the song "Transylvanian Concubine" belong to Rasputina.

Spoilers: Season 3, The Wish.

A/N: Set in the Wish-verse. Alt-Oz doesn't manage to stake Vamp-Willow, then Spike turns up, and the fun begins.

An AU of an AU. Now that has to be classed as an achievement! This evil little plot bunny distracted me while I was trying to write an English Lit essay and just wouldn't leave me alone. Be warned, it is not a nice, happy fic! Gratuitous torture, killing, and in later parts, sex abounds.

Special thanks to Manda and Cleo, who came up with the idea of holy water ice cubes.

Dedication: For Lauren, the only person I know who loves Vamp-Willow as much as I do!

****

Allegiance 

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Chapter One – The Coming Night

//_If you want to know how _

To fly high, then go now 

To the place where all the concubines... 

Meet and converse with them 

Marvel at their pale skin 

Wonder how they chew on their pointy... 

Teeth and hair are beauty 

They know it's their duty 

To be countess in their hearts and their... 

Minds that have to whisper 

See in them a sister 

Look into their eyes and you'll become 

Transylvanian Concubine//

Oz lunged forward, attempting to force the demon that had once been Willow Rosenberg onto the jagged end of wood behind her. His hands contacted her shoulders, but she was too strong for him. Using the strength and cunning that had served to make her the Master's favourite Childe, she twisted to the side, hands flashing out like lightening to grab his arms and pull him close to her. Pressing her lips to his neck, she felt his fear-quickened pulse, and it excited her.

She allowed her features to slip into the demonic visage, and she sank her fangs into Oz's throat, at once oblivious to the chaos around her. She had only taken a sip, however, when she pulled back, an expression of distaste playing on her blood-flecked lips.

"You taste funny," she complained. Suddenly, he was taken from her grasp. She turned to face the vampire who had snatched her meal from her. "I should kill you for that," she mused, staring into his icy blue eyes.

"You don't want this one, pet," the bleach blonde vampire told her, raising an eyebrow cockily. "He's a werewolf."

"Oh," she looked puzzled, her anger deflected. "I thought he had gone off." She put her hand on Oz's forehead, pushing it back so that the terrified boy was looking into her eyes. "You're a naughty boy," she told him. "Ruined my supper." With a flick of her wrist, she snapped his neck, and he went limp in the other vampire's arms.

The newcomer regarded her appraisingly. "I like you," he said finally, grinning. "Remind me of my Dru, you do. I'm William, by the way, William the Bloody, but you can call me Spike."

"Willow," she replied, her suspicion evident in her voice. "Why haven't I seen you around before? The Master never speaks of you."

"Look pet, I just got here. I don't know who this Master is, but I do know that there's a Slayer about, and if we don't get out of here, that pretty little arse of yours will be dust faster than blinkin'."

Willow scowled. "I can take care of myself."

"Sure you can." He grabbed her arm, aiming a punch at the cross-bearing human who had been creeping up behind her. They hadn't gone two paces, when they came face to face with the Slayer, engaged in vicious hand-to-hand combat with the Master. Willow instinctively darted forward to help her Sire, but Spike held her back.

"He's got her, luv," he said quietly. "She won't get away now."

Willow too could sense the Slayer's growing exhaustion. She was missing easy openings, her moves less confident than they should have been. Pretty little blonde girl, Willow was sorry she had to die now. She would have made a good replacement for Angelus.

"How do you fancy being in charge around here, Red?" Spike's voice in her ear was so low that for a moment Willow wasn't sure if she had heard it at all. She met his gaze, and at once knew what he meant, as clearly as if he had said it aloud. The idea was so new and alien, that for a moment she couldn't comprehend it. It was crazy, but somehow so thrilling.

A small, glinting smile appeared on her face. Why not? Life had been the same for so long, and what was the point of immortality, if not to experience new things now and then? On one hand, everything was so easy with the Master, humans practically handed to her on a silver platter, but on the other, this Spike character seemed so invigorating, so different, so _alive_. In truth, she was bored with her un-life as it was. She needed a change.

Almost imperceptibly, she nodded. Spike grinned, and was gone, into the crowd, brushing her hand as he passed and sending shivers down her spine. Now the fun would start.

The Slayer was fading fast, and the Master knew it. One more well aimed punch, and she hit the ground, gasping. This time, she didn't get up. The ancient vampire clasped her throat in a vice-like grip, and hauled her to her feet in front of him. Willow couldn't help admiring the blank stoicism with which she was prepared to meet her inevitable death. As the Master's fangs sank into her throat, and he began to drink, she didn't utter a single sound.

It happened so fast that if Willow had blinked, she would have missed it. One moment the Master was standing, triumphant, drinking the all-powerful blood of the Slayer, the next he let out a roar of pain and fear. The layers of his flesh stripped away, one by one, turning into clouds of pungent ash that stung Willow's nose and eyes. Then only his bones were left, and, unsupported, they fell to the floor, the crash resounding in the sudden silence. And there stood Spike, fully vamped out, a jagged wooden stake still clasped in his fist.

For a moment no one moved, then all hell broke loose. Vampires who had been faithful to the Master for decades, centuries even, were dashing to and fro like headless chickens. Amid the pandemonium, Willow remained motionless, her eyes locked onto Spike's. To the others, it may have seemed like the end, but to Willow, it was a great and glorious new beginning. The dawn of a future in which she would be a queen, ruling beside Spike to create a world of darkness and torture, the like of which even the Master could never have imagined.

***

A few hours later, the warehouse finally empty, Willow stood over the bones once more, watching them pensively. With The Master gone, the rest of the vampire pack immediately accepted Willow, as his second-in-command, as their new leader. A few had blanched when she introduced them all to Spike, but she had quickly reminded them of their place in the pack hierarchy. A couple of the most vociferous dissenters were still semi-conscious, chained by their wrists to the wall of the next room. 

She heard Spike enter, and come to stand by her side, but she didn't turn around.

"He was my Sire," she said, regret tingeing her voice. Spike remained silent, so she continued. "The only vampire dominant to me. You only beat him because you caught him in the one moment he's ever been off guard." It was as simple statement, and Spike didn't bother to protest. He knew she was right; if it had come down to a fair fight between him and The Master, he wouldn't have lasted two minutes. The result of a fight between himself and Willow however, was arguable, and was definitely something that would have to be put to the test at some point.

"I'll miss him," Willow's voice cut into his thoughts. She sounded surprised at her own declaration.

Spike smiled empathetically. "Course you do, luv. You were connected to the old sod. Feels like the world's gonna end, for a couple of days, but it gets better. Believe me, when my Dru, you know, kicked the bucket, I thought I'd never get over it, but you do."

"Dru?" Willow asked curiously. "That name sounds familiar. Dru…Drusilla?"

"That's right. It should sound bleeding familiar. We're related, you and me, courtesy of a couple of generations."

Now Willow was intrigued. "Tell me." It was a command, not a question. Under normal circumstances, Spike would have balked, but he could tell that this one was used to getting her own way, and he didn't feel up to a fight.

"Alright pet, easy," he said. "I dunno if you ever met the eldest of your Master's childer, name of Darla…"

"I know Darla," Willow cut him off. "She was the favourite when I was Turned. We were rivals. I killed her."

Spike looked slightly startled. "You'll probably know then, that she sired Angelus, you know, Soulboy?"

"Puppy," Willow agreed simply.

"Eh?" Spike looked confused.

"We kept him in one of the basements. He was a bad puppy, so Master let me play with him. He was strong, that one, but I was stronger. We had such fun together."

Fighting back his astonishment that this pale, fragile looking vampiress had bested and tortured the Scourge of Europe, Spike looked at Willow with newfound respect. "Right…well…er…" he regained his composure. "Anyway, when he was still quite young, Angelus found an innocent little chit who he took a shine to. First, he drove her crazy, killing all her family, then, on the day she was meant to take her vows to become a nun, he Turned her. That was Dru."

"I like it," Willow half-smiled impishly. "Wish I'd known Puppy then."

"Yeah, he was quite something, our Angelus."

"So, Drusilla, she was insane?"

"Madder than a bloody march hare, pet," Spike told her, wistfully. "But something must've been working right, 'cause she sired me. Makin' you my Great Aunt, or something."

"What happened to her?"

"Well, the four of us, me, Dru, Darla, and Angelus, we were practically unstoppable. Those were great years…I even killed a Slayer, in the Boxer Rebellion, China…" he waited for some sign of admiration, but got none. "But then Angelus got himself all souled up, an' bein' the bloody poofter he is, he went off to brood in the darkness somewhere. Darla got pissed off and ran back home to Daddy, leavin' me an' Dru to it. We travelled about a bit for a good few decades, had fun, saw the world, killed another Slayer, got into a nasty scrap with an angry mob, an' ended up back in LA, 'bout this time last year. Only been there a couple of days when that bitch got her," he gestured to the drained blonde corpse on the floor a short distance away. "I was out huntin', and Dru was weak, never saw it comin'. I got back in time to see my baby turn to dust. I went for the Slayer, but she got away…" Spike sank into meditative silence, looking down at the dust-covered bones.

Willow watched him for a moment. "Life is good here, Spike," she said quietly. "We are in charge in this town. There are people everywhere, and we can kill them, and torture them, and ride them like ponies. As long as you obey me, you won't have any trouble." She lifted her head, allowing the curtain of red-gold hair to fall back, so that her piercing green eyes could meet his blue ones. The message in them was clear. Spike lowered his gaze in a submissive gesture. The time to challenge the beautiful vampiress's authority would come, but he would have to be patient.

Willow turned away, and started to walk towards the door. "Red…" Spike called after her.

She whipped around, her emerald eyes flashing dangerously. "You will call me Willow."

"Right, er, Willow…."

"Yes?"

"Where is Angelus? I'd like to, you know, pay the old poof a visit."

"He is dead." She said it without sorrow or regret. "The Slayer staked him before she got to The Master."

"Right," Spike watched Willow walk away. "Right." So he was the last living, or un-living, member of his family. Of the great and terrible quartet that they had once been, he alone remained and only he was left to make sure that their bloodline, perhaps the greatest that there had ever been, did not go uncontinued.

He spun around and strode after Willow, out of the warehouse and down the dark alley behind it. He reached the door of The Bronze, and pushed it violently open. Standing on the threshold, he surveyed the room, taking in the throbbing music, vampires, and scattered, half-dead, humans.

Yes, he was going to like it here.

***

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A few weeks later…

Willow stalked around the club, working herself more into a temper with every step. She knew he was here – she could smell him. Eventually she found him, sprawled on a sofa near the back wall, seemingly engrossed in his thoughts.

"Xander."

He looked up as she sat down next to him and smiled lasciviously. "Hey Will." He leaned forward for a kiss, but she pushed him away in disgust.

"You stink of her," she told him. "You were with her today."

He feigned innocence. "With who, baby?"

She gave him a don't-mess-with-me look. "You know who," she said slowly. "You fucked Cordelia today."

"So?" His tone was laced with insolence.

"_So_ did I give you _permission_ to fuck Cordelia?"

He laughed nervously, knowing he had reached the edge of the danger zone. "It's never mattered to you before who I fuck."

"Everyone had orders to stay away from the little slut this week and you know it," Willow snapped. "She was under punishment."

"But The Master gave those orders…" He trailed off under Willow's withering glare.

"And you thought that just because The Master was gone, you could disobey him? How dare you think so little of my Sire's words! Any orders he gave out still stand now that I am Mistress, but now it is I you have to answer to if you break them." She allowed her demonic features to slip over her face. "Is that clear, Childe?"

Xander appeared to have shrunk, his previously cocky attitude vanished. "Y-yes Mistress."

"I'm not sure it is," she stared deep into his velvet brown eyes, tracing the line of his jaw with one razor edged nail, leaving a faint line of ruby droplets. "I think someone's still being a bad puppy inside. Thinking bad thoughts. Perhaps someone needs to be," her eyes lit up with a golden fire, "punished."

If possible, Xander paled. His tone became frantic. "No Mistress, please…"

Willow stood up, grabbing the collar of Xander's leather jacket, and dragging him to his feet beside her. She held his face close to her own and hissed. Laughing as he began to tremble, she let go, and began to walk away. He followed automatically, his head hanging, knowing that, for him, the expression 'like a whipped puppy-dog' was about to take on a whole new meaning.

***

The scent of freshly dug earth permeated the cool night air. Alone, a solitary, ominous figure in the shadows of a graveyard, Spike was wandering around Sunnydale, absorbing the details of his new territory. In order to rule this place, as he fully intended to, he would need an intimate knowledge of its layout. He must learn the position of every copse and gravestone, every dark alley and manhole, where he might get an easy meal, and where was not safe to stay for long.

Willow hadn't been lying when she said that the vampires owned this town, he realised. Once you got away from the area around The Bronze, where most of the vampires hung out, the streets were practically deserted. The only living human he had passed in ages was a semi-conscious tramp, old and filthy and stinking of stale alcohol. Spike would have had to have been fairly desperate to consider feeding on him. Which, he mused, was probably the only reason the old git was still alive at all.

After several hours, feeling disheartened, he turned and began heading back across town towards The Bronze. He was beginning to feel that, at this rate, they wouldn't be able to hang around this town for much longer anyway. There just wouldn't be enough humans left to feed them all. If only so many of these vamps weren't so preoccupied with making sodding childer. Spike was more of the lone wolf type himself. He didn't mind having a few close companions, but this was bordering on ridiculous.

He snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of smashing crockery coming from one of the well-lit houses that lined the quiet suburban street he was walking down. Intrigued, and glad of the distraction, he crept closer, and did what he was best at; blended into the shadows under a tree in the front garden and tuned his vampire hearing into the raised voices that were emanating from a partially open downstairs window.

"I hate you!" The voice was female and young, perhaps mid-teens. "I hate you both! You just don't want me to have any fun! You've ruined my life!"

A second voice, also female but older, and in some distress, answered her. "Melody, sweetheart, you know it's for you own good…"

"Remember what happened to your sister," A male voice broke in. Spike could detect anger, but also pain in his tone.

"Dad, I'm not Harmony!" the teenager countered furiously. " I'm not gonna get myself bit or anything! I know how to stay safe!" Spike recognised the name Harmony. He could just about conjure up a picture of a slim blonde vampiress. Pretty enough, but too ditzy for his taste.

"We're just worried about you, honey…"

"I'm fifteen years old, Mom. I'm not a baby!"

The man spoke up again. "You're still a minor, and I'm still your father! If I say you're not going, then you're not going!"

"I hate you!"

Spike sighed as he heard hurried footsteps in the hall. Just another family fight, nothing worth staying for. He was about to leave, when he caught the sound of the door handle turning from the inside, and stopped. Apparently the stupid chit was actually planning on running outside, rather than up to her room as he'd expected her to, even though she knew the dangers of being out at night.

The girl came bursting out into the garden, skinny as a rake in tracksuit bottoms and a tank top, her blonde hair was pulled into a messy ponytail and her feet were bare. She ran as far as the front gate and hesitated, suddenly unwilling to venture out into the dark streets. She half-turned back to the door, as though hoping her parents would come storming through it to drag her back, but they hadn't heard her leave. In that moment, Spike stepped out from behind the tree.

The girl saw him at once, and stopped dead, instantly knowing him. Her face instantly drained of colour and her eyes widened in terror. She tried to scream but, with vampiric speed, Spike was at her side, his hand clamped over her mouth.

"You're a pretty one," he whispered in her ear as her eyes bulged from her head in horror, darting helplessly from side to side. "Shame you don't have the brains to match." The air was full of the heady scent of her fear, and he chuckled softly as his eyes gleamed gold and his forehead ridged. She gasped, unable to cry out, as his fangs slid into the silky, tan flesh of her throat. Her blood had the sweet, fresh taste of youth and untainted innocence, running thick and warm over Spike's tongue. This was what it was all about. Forget dreams of grandeur, of a dark future where vampires ruled the world. As long as he could have moments like this, Spike was happy.

***

Xander hung limply upright from his manacles, his face a mask of agony. Willow stood in front of him, completely absorbed in burning a line of welts into his flesh all along his collarbone using the lighted match that she held daintily between finger and thumb.

"Lift your head up," she snapped suddenly, slapping him sharply across the cheek. "Your chin is in the way."

He complied at once, hoping for a moment's relief from the pain. She held the flame to his skin for one last moment, then stepped back to admire her handiwork. "Not quite straight," she mused to herself. "But better than last time."

She turned and knelt down beside the box of *toys* at her feet, and began to rummage through it, picking up her torture implements one by one, and examining them for a second, before replacing them. Finally she found one that seemed to please her and stood up, turning back to face Xander. She saw his confusion, as he spotted the needle and thread in her hand, and noted that he seemed slightly relieved that she hadn't picked a more fearsome weapon. It almost made her laugh, that he could still be so naïve.

She sashayed up to him, leaning against his wounded chest just enough to give him a stab of pain, swaying sinuously from side to side, and captured his mouth in a fierce kiss.. Surprised, he responded just enough to allow her to force his teeth apart with her tongue. She brought her hand up to his face, as though to stroke his cheek, and pulled her mouth away, quickly jamming the tiny silver cross that she had kept hidden in her fist, between his lips.

He roared with pain, and tried to rid his burning mouth of the offending object, but Willow held his jaw shut easily with one hand, shaking her head disapprovingly. "Naughty boy must take his medicine," she told him, showing him the palm of her left hand, where the cross had charred her flesh into a blackened mess. "See? Mummy is brave, but you're not. If you can't be a sensible boy, Mummy will have to make sure you don't spit it out." She brandished the needle and thread once more. As she inserted it into his damaged bottom lip, with as much care as a doctor performing a critical operation, she began to hum softly to herself, a meaningless jumble of notes. He ceased to struggle, and allowed her to stitch his lips together. Not that he could really have done anything about it. His mouth was beginning to go numb now, but every time he swallowed, the dreadful pain ripped down his gullet, and he tried desperately not to swallow the cross, terrified of the damage that it could cause to his insides.

Her head tilted slightly, she looked into his pleading eyes, and ran her hand over his face. "I used to do this to Darla, you know," she mused. "She loved it too. She hated me for making her love it, but when she screamed stop, I knew she was really screaming for more." Willow sank her nails deep into the scarred flesh of his cheek, smiling cruelly as she pulled them out, one by one. Raising her hand to her mouth, she carefully licked them clean of his cold blood. "Do you want me to make you scream for more, puppy?"

He whimpered, spinning darkness blurring at the edges of his vision, sucking him down into a moment's blissful release. He wasn't sure how long he remained unconscious, but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes before the sharp clink of glass jolted him back to painful reality. His eyes came back into focus fixed on a delicate glass jug that Willow held in her now leather-clad fingers and he realised that he was now lying on the cold stone floor, his hands still chained somewhere above his head.

"Ice is magic," she told him dreamily, holding the jug aloft so that he could see the frozen cubes inside. "So cold, but see how it burns…"

Xander watched suspiciously as she reached in with a gloved hand and withdrew a single ice cube, a twisted smile playing on her lips. She placed the ice on the groove of his collarbone and slid it slowly down the centre of his exposed chest. Instead of the expected cold, a searing pain caused him to cry out, almost ripping the stitches from his mouth in his anguish. Looking down, he saw a line of black marring the cool white skin. He lifted his gaze to Willow, who chuckled gleefully.

"That's right puppy. I told you it was magic. The magic water burns, but it makes you all clean."

Xander whined again as she straddled his stomach, slipping one slim, black leather cover leg over his prone form. He watched helplessly as she created swirling patterns of blistered flesh using the remaining ice cubes, mesmerised by the avid concentration in her gaze and the way her red hair fell in silky curtains over her cheeks.

After a while, she looked up, disappointment written in her eyes. "It isn't the same if you can't scream," she stated, allowing the demon to surface and transform her elfin features. She lowered her fangs to his mouth and used their razor-sharp edge to break the stitching.

He gasped as his jaw was released, instantly wrenching his head to one side and spitting the tiny cross onto the floor, accompanied by a clotted mess of blood and scorched tissue. Willow giggled, her face human again, and placed several fluttering, stinging kisses on his ravaged lips, nipping at the torn flesh with blunt teeth.

Xander shuddered, failing to disguise the arousal that crept though him from behind the pain. He sucked in his breath as Willow twisted so that she lay full length on his wounded body, writhing and planting teasing kisses all across his chin and down his neck.

Suddenly, she lifted herself off him, and stood up, sneering at his obvious arousal. "Who do you belong to?" she demanded, jabbing the toe of her boot into his side.

"You," he whispered, his voice shaking with repentance and dejection. "I belong to you, Mistress."

"That's right," she told him, smiling. "I'm glad puppy learned his lesson today, and I don't think he'll forget it again in a hurry."

At that, she spun on her heel and walked out of the room, leaving him huddled on the blood-smeared flagstones, shivering violently, waiting and hoping for someone to have mercy and undo his chains.

***

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Later the same night…

The door of the club burst open and a darkly beautiful brunette girl strode purposefully into the room. She could easily have passed as a vampiress, dressed all in black and leather, but for the steady, resonant heartbeat pounding above the throb of the music that made every vamp in the room look up. The nearest vampire, a male who Willow vaguely recognised, lunged for her. She hardly glanced at him as she plunged a stake into his chest and he exploded with a howl of dismay.

"Anyone else wanna try that?" she asked, glancing around The Bronze. "No?" she chuckled. "Didn't think so. So who's the big deal around here? Who's in charge?"

There was utter silence. Willow sighed and stepped forward, narrowing her eyes. "Who's asking?" She was puzzled. The girl smelled almost human, but there was something… not quite right about her. And that delicious insolence…

"Name's Faith," the girl told her, bringing her fist down sharply behind her, knocking a silently approaching vampire across the room. "You might know me as The Slayer."

***

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To be continued…


End file.
